Isn’t Romanticism dead already?


A few weeks ago, I kept getting stuck on writers block. I couldn’t understand what was going on, I was having thoughts coming out of my head and fill the pages about lost love that was never found; feelings which I’m currently somewhere between a rock and a hard place. But I wasn’t getting the same satisfying feeling. Everything felt overdone and not thinking fresh thoughts. Until three weeks ago, when a similar theme kept repeating and reappearing itself in my classes. People who were melancholy, loved human and regular nature, and expressed emotion of lost love were the Romantics. They didn’t want to face any difficult changes that would rethink the course of human events. When I was reading poems from Tennyson, Keats, and Coleridge, I think my mind literary popped. Such poetic detail with over the top romantic language and the content of those poems were usually relating to self discovering of oneself or of another. We are all trying to figure out each other and where are all going to end up in the next 5-10 years, so why are we questioning so much? Why do we let questions take over our thoughts, our minds? Hell, even our first dates can get exhausting, playing ping pong with your opponent with more questions thrown back and forth. So I sat at Bradley Hall and wondered if being a romantic really is such a bad thing. Maybe there was sometime to this idea of a lost melancholy person trying to find new light at the end of the day without authority stepping in. But for now, enjoy this poem that I have created.

‘Baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no more’

I do not believe I am a romantic,

How on earth can I be that sort of individual?

For someone who shares feelings as much as an English setter,

wagging its tail, patiently waiting for a treat from its “master”,

I do not tend to voice my opinion well.

The same dogs, with long snouts and on all fours,

wish to rationalize their thoughts as these people

summon them to their duties outside. It can be greatest

emotion in the universe, to be entranced by another spirit,

more exquisite and unreal for the heart then any other feeling–

happy, sad, angry, horny. All of these expressions explode when

two people are one, together. My girlfriend keep screaming

through the misty telephone, “He is just not filling up

your love tank anymore. Where is the respect?”

I have a dream that my four little children will one day

live in a nation where they will not be judged.

You have grown out of my wicked ways,

with the bone still drooling in your mouth. I am wearing

a skin tight red dress for Cupid’s Day, with Sus,

who is in my apartment, changing into my favorite LBD and

red shoes to top off. We are each other’s date, secretly hoping

that an angel will strike us with doves to fly with later that evening.

Why did you run, run, run run, run

all the way home, your home, a separate home. Seems like

you thought of everything, didn’t you? Bad dog!

Maybe next time I shop for Schnucks $5.99 Piont Nior,

while the young couple searching for sweet and sour mix,

I won’t judge them so harshly. Staring at their awkward public displays of affection.

Let them be in love while I will go off to get off.

I warn you, do not, and I sincerely mean

DO NOT take these feelings as Romanticism.

Dead like our English setter, buried in the back yard,

with a bone stapled in his mouth forever.


A True Best Friend Just Knows

Text messages sent back and forth to one of my best friends. Please enjoy the unknown inside world of ‘what do white women love to talk about.’ Take your seats and if you must throw up, do it somewhere that no one will see you.



So Adam’s friend, Mark, just sent a friend request on Facebook. What should I do?


Mark None?


Yeah, that one


I’d go ahead and add him. Adam is the one who uses that page. It was probably him who sent it.




I think it’s kind of funny. Once Adam is out of class, I’ll ask him about it.


Mkay, cool.


Speaking of Adam, has becky posted anything on his wall? Ugh, I have to go see the vagina doctor today. I always feel like they’re judging me if I miss a spot shaving down there. Bahahaha.


I haven’t seen anything. Oh Vagina Monologues, “and then there are those visits”. I don’t like my doctor so my vag is always hairy and untamed, lol.


Okay cool. Thanks girl 🙂 Bahahaha! I love my normal one, but I’m seeing a different lady today since my normal is on vacation. Ugh, this is so traumatic, I feel like she should at least buy me dinner first.


For sure. I need to switch, she has made comments about my vag that I don’t appreciate. Like hen I had my first PAB, she made a rude comment about how tight my vag was and how I need to savor it. I felt so vulnerable. Yeah, they should and ask where you see yourself in 3-5 years.


Bahahaha, 3-5 years. I love it!! Men just don’t understand. If I were you, I would have like ‘sorry we all can’t have gaping vaginas like you!’ Yuck! The receptionist just asked me what I was here for. So I had to announce to the waiting room I was getting std testing. Thanks for the look of judgement’s fellow patrons of Stc. Lol.


Way to be judging stc! She clearly gives no fucks today lol.


Yup, it was Adam who added you. He was like ‘why do you care’ when I asked him. Maybe someone has a little crush on you?!


You can’t be serious


Well, I was serious about him adding you, but not too serious about the crush part. But seriously, he might. For all I know. He likes you a lot, I know that much.


I don’t think he does. Besides he wouldn’t have the balls to ask me out, considering you’re my best friend.


If he did, I would laugh so hard. And buy you two long islands from one world.


Bahahaha I love you.


Which technically makes it three long islands, since I already owe you one. Oh lord, when I’m in Peoria next, we’re getting white girl wasted at 11 am again.


I have no complaints with that lol.


What are you up to tonight?


Staying home and watching the cards game. What are your plans?


Just hanging out on the south side of Chicago in a section 8 neighborhood. Haha! Oh, the places my friends take me to.


Section 8? Oh geez, hopefully they’re taking you to get murdered.


You know sometimes I really hate all men in general.


They can suck in their general field. But yeah, they can be jerks sometimes.


My guy friends just make these tiny comments that just get under my skin. But then if I call them out on it, they just patronize me. Sorry I’m venting.


What kind of comments? Like pig ones? Fuck them, it still isn’t a nice thing to do.


Yes, piggish and Jamar like comments. I found myself wishing there was another girl. I just felt ganged up on. Omg. This totally sounds like a Dr. Phil episode.


Gotcha, how rude. Are there no chicks at this place? Are they saying it to you or while in conversation?


Both. And thankfully, one of the guys girlfriends just came over so I’m not alone. I just wish we were equal, like really equal.


If that ever happened, we wouldn’t have sexual harassment at work and women can talk about how small guys dicks were during a one night stand by the water cooler. We all wish for your kind of equality though.


Ugh, my friend Louis just grabbed my side. Like just grabbed it. Then made a joke about me not being ticklish. I just want to go home 😦 I feel so…invaded….I’m sorry, I’m being annoying. Hope you’re having a fun night 🙂


1) Yes he is a douche. 2) don’t let that guy bring you down. 3) not at all 🙂


You know, you just get me.


Lol, I try

Terry and Jerry; a fizzling marriage on the rocks?

This past Sunday, I received a text message from Ang, my best friend from home, as I am watching the new episode of  Boardwalk Empire with my good friend, Jamar. As gun shots fired in the streets of 1930’s Chicago,  I read the message, “I don’t think Jerry’s coming back after Christmas, maybe before.” What the hell is that suppose to mean? I couldn’t quite understand it…

We knew that Ang’s mother, Terry, was having some issues with him, with the two hour drive distance and working late killing any moment she had planned out. Not only does her mom need him, but so do his step children. Ang has to help her mother pay the bills, car payments, etc, all the wild,  Jerry is working at a shoe store living it easy in  his apartment in Hannibal, Missouri. Sometimes I think that either of them are giving their marriage a shot . Terry doesn’t want to sacrifice what she lost before; spending time with her children, a good paying job, a man who truly loves her. I believed Terry back when I was getting for my first semester at Bradley that he was going to be there for her and the kids, that Jerry would stick around when times were difficult, especially poverty line hard.  As time worn on, Ang being back at SCAD and her younger brother finishing high school, their relationship was up. And then poof! He just decides to move after they were living together for only two years. This is so unfair for you, Ang.

What kind of a father would do that? To leave when Terry is jobless and is about to lose her house because of the eviction e-mail from Terry’s step son? I can’t recall the actual date of his departure but the next time I saw Ang, she was more stressed and not well. Their status had changed so quickly for Terry to notice before she was back to over 40 hours weeks that Ang had to pick up the slack. Ang becoming more of an adult than I am, while her step dad is looking for one in a brand new city, since the shoe market up there is nonexistence, he feels that it won’t be an issue.  Weeks flew by, then came the months. When is it going to happen? No body thought it would last longer than temporary. We were wrong. By a long shot. I couldn’t have felt worse for her, after she decides to join the navy because there are no jobs in her field open to her at the moment and she needs to help out her family; her mother and younger brother. Her decision to join isn’t the point where I knew there was trouble.

It happened over Fall Break, while visiting Ang and Terry. A for sale sign has been sitting in the front yard one week before I left for my last semester at Bradley, the sight stings me a little as I walk up to her house. Boxes in the hall, scattered boxes in the living room, boxes in a corner in Ang’s room. To my amazement, they were getting a great start on getting the hell out of there, at least that’s what they kept saying. Ang was looking thinner, stressed about living in a new place, further away from work and her best friend, when she knew her ship off date was April 15th 2014. I didn’t blame her, I told her that she looked great, because i knew she was trying not to show it. Unlike Jerry, which she gladly vented about his overall bad parenting. Frustrated by Terry not telling her anything about their relationship, she took matters into her own hands and called him. “He seems content with Hannibal and doesn’t really want to leave. He has created a life for himself and so has my mom, separately. They’re on completely different schedules and can never compromise on spending time with each other. I don’t know what more I can do.”

Which got me to thinking about men, but more so in Ang’s case. All of the men, except her grandfather, in her life have always let her down. Her step dad, father, brother, step brothers, Rutger Strauss,  her first major crush. No man to support her and her decisions, no guy to give her a shoulder to cry on when things were hard, no dad to take her to the father-daughter dance. I wish I had a magical cloak to cover her from the mistrust and betrayal brought by them. But I can’t and I think that’s the worst part.

Fresh off the Presses

This poem is somewhat centered around this; this being the father figure in Ang’s life not appearing in her life. I would love some feedback, brutal honestly, things that need improving, to add or subtract lines or phrases. Please let me know!

‘Dear Father’

Another man, one more let down

to add to the list of few. All that remains

Air Nike sneakers, Star Trek poster, guilt.

Of course you would do this when no one was

watching, looking over you shoulder like a

jewelry thief at Tiffany’s. All shiny and new.

Just waiting, for the purple line train, to quickly head

back into the Loop, back towards the cloudy midst.

When one door opens, another door shuts up,

as the ticks on the wall, becoming more obsolete

and the visitors outgrew this horrid disease. They look

to you, poor heartless being lying on your flat line bed,

just to watch you die. What more is there to say, nothing.

From you, other than what they obsessively need and

the words you never said–I’m sorry.

At least there was always one that watched over,

protective, wise, held your hand during the first flu shot.

You made the coals of your terrible misfortune

into precious sparkly diamonds.

You gave everyone sunshine on cloudy days, When it

was February, you had May. I’d guess that you’d hear me

Say, what could make you feel this way? The answer is

the best part of her bed time story. Damn.

I wish that door never had to shut, but some things have to be buried.


One of Many

During my time spent on this blog, I will displaying some poems; hoping to get some readers reactions. Lately I have been writing to become more creative with my language and word play.  I’ve kind of stopped expressing my sappy emotions and just started to show the reader how I feel.  Like I said, this poem will be one of many that I will be posted.  I hope you all don’t hate it.

The Hole

 I should have never let myself go there;

back to the dirty, muddy dump. Hopeless and stupid because I was

the fool. The fool, the maroon—

selfless victim of your desires,

at least I thought they were yours.

Down there, way, way down,

in the hole, here, in the ground

is where I, curled up in a ball,

waited for the seconds, minutes, hours to go by,

in case you changed your mind.

When I go there, I carry one person

I don’t understand, the person you never thought you

would, could, or had the capability of being.

It’s you. You that, that thing, who yearns for

closeness and ideals about commitment

with another— who is willing to share

those same feelings. You noticed.

Noticed me and my wit.

Held on to any bit of hope or interest I had

about starting over again. Even was willing to give—

to someone as nice and warm as you.

Just like the gold tinted red leaves loosely

hanging on to the oak tree—your harsh autumn words shook them down.

Unearthing mistakes of my past, I find broken pieces

of artifacts  and bones that look like me; once with you,

never once was I not happy. My lovely bones thought—

they found a resting place in your arms.

Something so rare to find would normally be—

displayed in a museum, just as a dug up Apatosaurus would.

Instead, you kept those fossils to yourself—buried and hidden from

ever seeing the light of day.

It would have been so beautiful out on a first day of autumn like today. 

Maybe another time— maybe another season

or two, but the hole

will always remain.

“Pour yourself …

“Pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick, and pull yourself together.” Elizabeth Taylor

My friend Morgan found this for me when I was going through the toughest semester at Bradley. Sitting on my bed with essays, notes, and scrap paper covering half of the surface, I wanted to pull my hair out. My phone sends me a notification about a photo posted on my Facebook wall. These quote saved my day and probably my whole semester if I didn’t stop to take the time and read the quote.